Chapter 1 #2
I looked up at the luxury box. Dean Carmichael was there. The Keeper. The human who knew our secret and held our scholarships hostage to keep a championship team on the ice. He was looking right at me. He tapped his watch.
Control yourself, Mr. Thorne.
I gripped my stick until the composite shaft groaned. I needed to get out of here. I needed darkness. I needed silence. I needed to go back to the cabin, lock the reinforced door of my bedroom, and ride out the storm in my blood before I did something that couldn't be undone.
The game ended in a brawl. We won, but it didn't feel like a victory. It felt like escaping a crime scene.
I skipped the showers. I couldn't handle the locker room banter, the smell of other males, the playful snapping of towels. I grabbed my bag, threw a hoodie over my head, and exited through the back door into the biting Minnesota night.
The cold air helped. The snow crunched under my boots as I walked toward the edge of campus, toward the woods.
The Hive—the cluster of cabins where the pack lived—was usually loud. Partying, fighting, howling at the moon. But the duplexes were further out, isolated by a thick belt of pine trees. I had demanded the end unit for a reason. No neighbors. No noise. No witnesses if I started screaming.
I trudged up the path, my head down, my senses dialed inward, trying to contain the headache that was splitting my skull.
Then, I stopped.
I lifted my head. I flared my nostrils.
A scent.
It hit me like a physical blow. It didn't belong here. The woods smelled of pine, dirt, decay, and snow.
This smell was… sugar.
It was warm vanilla, spun sugar, and something floral—like freesia or jasmine. It was sickeningly sweet, terrifyingly delicate, and it made my mouth water instantly. My Wolf woke up from its sulk, pacing in my chest, scratching at my ribs.
Prey? Mate? Mine?
I growled low in my throat and stormed toward my cabin.
There was a light on. Not in my unit—Unit 4A was dark, just as I left it. But Unit 4B, the empty shell on the other side of the firewall, was blazing with light.
A car was parked in the driveway. A sensible, expensive, white sedan.
I marched up the porch steps, my boots thudding heavily on the wood. I reached for my door handle, but my eyes drifted to the pile of boxes stacked in front of 4B.
Fragile.
Kitchen.
Books.
And then, the door to 4B opened.
The scent exploded. It washed over me in a tidal wave, drowning out the pine, the snow, and the metallic tang of my own aggression.
A girl stood there.
She was small. Tiny. She barely came up to the center of my chest. She was wrapped in a perfectly tailored wool coat, her blonde hair pulled back in a severe bun that highlighted the frantic pulse fluttering in her throat. She held a cardboard box in her arms, her knuckles white.
She looked up. And up.
Her eyes were violet. I had never seen eyes that color. They were wide, terrified, and stunning.
For a second, the world stopped spinning. The wind died. The ache in my bones vanished, replaced by a searing heat that started in my groin and shot up my spine.
My Wolf lunged against the bars of his cage, howling one word.
MATE.
I clenched my jaw so hard a molar cracked. No. Absolutely not.
She was human. I could hear the fragile beat of her heart, the rush of blood through veins that would snap under the slightest pressure. She was a porcelain doll, and I was a sledgehammer.
"You," I rasped. My voice was a disaster—raw, deep, vibrating with the growl I was barely suppressing.
She flinched. She actually took a step back, clutching the box like a shield. "I… I’m moving in next door. The dorms flooded."
Her voice was soft. Cultured. Terrified.
"No," I said. It wasn't a conversation. It was a command. "Leave."
Her chin went up. It was a trembling, pathetic movement, but there was steel in it. "Excuse me?"
"You can't be here," I snarled, stepping closer. I loomed over her, blocking out the porch light, casting her in my shadow. "You need to leave. Now. Before…"
Before I eat you. Before I drag you into my den and ruin you.
"I can't leave," she whispered, though she didn't back down this time. "My father assigned me this unit."
"Your father?" I narrowed my eyes, scanning her face. The perfect symmetry. The entitlement. The fear.
"Dean Carmichael," she said.
The name was a bucket of ice water.
This was the Dean’s daughter. The Princess. The forbidden fruit. The leverage.
If I touched a hair on her head, I was dead. If I mated her? I’d be hunted down and skinned.
But my Wolf didn't care about politics. My Wolf wanted to lick the pulse point at her neck. He wanted to tear that wool coat off and see if she tasted as sweet as she smelled. The urge to knot—to claim, to fill—was so sudden and violent I had to grab the railing to keep from grabbing her.
I forced myself to look away. I stared at the wood of the doorframe, breathing through my mouth to avoid her scent.
"Stay away from me," I said, my voice dropping to a lethal whisper. "Do not talk to me. Do not knock on my door. Do not look at me."
"I have no intention of bothering you," she said, her voice icy now. "I’m just trying to get into my apartment."
"Good." I unlocked my door, shoving it open. "Lock your door, Princess. And keep it locked."
I slammed my door behind me, engaging the deadbolt, the chain, and the heavy crossbar.
I leaned my back against the wood, sliding down until I hit the floor. I buried my face in my hands, shaking.
The wall behind me was thin.
I heard her front door close. Click.
I heard her lock it. Clack.
I heard her let out a shaky breath.
I heard her take off her boots.
I heard the soft thump-thump-thump of her heart beating like a trapped bird.
I squeezed my eyes shut, groaning as my erection throbbed painfully against my jeans.
She was five feet away. Just wood and drywall separating a monster from the only thing that had ever made him feel... quiet.
I was going to lose my mind.
Zoe
I stood on the other side of the door, pressing my hand against my chest, trying to force my heart to slow down.
He was terrifying.
He was huge, scarring, and rude, and he looked at me like he wanted to rip my throat out.
But when he had leaned in, when his shadow had swallowed me whole… for the first time in my life, I hadn't felt like a statue on a shelf. I hadn't felt cold.
A shiver raced down my spine, but it wasn't fear.
I touched the door, my palm flat against the wood. I could hear him on the other side. A heavy thud, like a body hitting the floor. A groan that sounded like it was torn from the chest of a dying animal.
I bit my lip, tasting iron.
My father had warned me about boys. He had warned me about distractions. He had built a fortress around me to keep me safe, pristine, and perfect for the judges.
But as I stood there, listening to the labored breathing of the beast next door, I realized something terrifying.
I didn't want to be safe.
I wanted to know what would happen if I opened the door.